[as if in dreams newsletter from Joseph Zitt - 30 October 2023
Hi. I'm Joseph Zitt. I moved from the US to Israel in 2017. This is my newsletter about more-or-less daily life in my city in the shadow of war. You can select these links to subscribe or unsubscribe. There are more links at the bottom. Here we go...
A rose-colored power cord snakes across my path to work. Each end of it leads around a corner. Someone hidden from view is shaking it. The cord flaps against the pavement, sweeping against the leaves and purple flowers that have fallen from the trees. Its sound mixes with my footsteps, tapping and brushing, endless and Barbie-pink.
When I get to my office building, an elevator is already waiting. It's the largest, used for moving furniture when needed. Rather than mirrors and carpeting, all its surfaces except the ceiling are covered with something like wood.
As I approach the elevator, I hear a cranky child, and a woman yelling what sounds like "Die! Die! Die!" I'm not concerned. I know that in Hebrew, "Dai" means "Enough," as in the song "Dayenu (It would be enough for us)." I step in and say, "Good morning." The woman stops shouting. The child stops whining and huddles behind his mother's legs.
It's usually a straight shot to my fourth-floor office, but this time several people get on and off on the way. It becomes the Binary Local, stopping at floors 0, 1, 2, and 4. (I can imagine a Fibonacci Local, but the doors would have to open twice on one floor, to count as stopping on 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, and 5. And you who skipped math can wake up now.)
It's a quiet day on our city's streets and skies. No sirens. No booms. The liveblogs tell me that there have been several barrages to the north and south and near the capitol, but little reaches here.
There's more activity across the border. Our army is there and are moving toward the major city from at least three sides. They appear to be taking it slowly, to make sure that they have control of each meter of land before they move on to the next.
Our army has also attacked a refugee camp to the west. The enemy from across the southern border are there, too. Tweeted images show bulldozers taking away a major piece of art that had been on a roundabout.
Other tweets on my timeline all show a single video from our capitol. Some say that it's of occupation forces murdering a young local man. Others say that it's of our brave police eliminating a terrorist who had stabbed an officer. Some of those credit a policeman whose daughter was killed in the massacre several weeks ago.
The US government has stopped its charter flights for civilians. Demand has dropped. It looks like almost everyone who wanted to leave here has left.
My friends who had moved here briefly are now back in the States. When I spoke with them, they were OK, after a bizarre journey that they're writing about. They were preparing to go have biscuits and fried chicken in the place that they like best in their hometown. Then they'll take time to figure out what to do next. I think they'll be back, but we don't know when.
My family tells me that the word "r'sisim" that I translated as "shrapnel" yesterday more generally means "fragments." A link traces it back, like so many words, to the Bible. The prophet Amos wrote. "The great house was broken in pieces." It appears more poetically (as so many words do) in the Song of Songs: "My head is filled with dew, the shards of night."
I do see bits of good news. One of our soldiers who was held as a hostage was rescued last night. She isn't saying much, but has seen and remembered a lot that may be useful. And there's progress toward humanitarian aid across the borders.
My eyes are tired from reading and watching the news. Maybe I need different glasses. Rose-colored. Electric neon. Maybe powered by that electrical cord a few blocks away.
Feel free to forward the newsletter to other people who might be interested.
Here’s an archive of past newsletters.
You can find me via email, Bluesky, Mastodon, Facebook, and, just out of inertia, X/Twitter. There's more about me and my books, music, and films at josephzitt.com.
The newsletter’s official mailing address is 304 S. Jones Blvd #3567, Las Vegas NV 89107. (I’m in Israel, but if physical mail comes to me there, it’ll get scanned and emailed. I don’t expect that to happen much. If you want to send me physical mail, ask me for a real address.)
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L'hitraot.